Trapped
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: Dean wakes up somewhere he doesn't expect...
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: So this just sort of came to me as per usual, expect short chapters and I'm going to switch back and forth between Dean POV and Sam's. Not sure what season this takes place in so I can't really warn you for spoilers. There will be a bit of Bobby and baby in here because I miss them a hell of a whole lot right now. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. :) God Bless all of you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this and for that Dean should be glad. *evil laughter***

Thoughts brief and fleeting whisper by in his mind as his consciousness skirts by.

He groans involuntarily, flexing his hands in response to the unpleasant sinking feeling that something is wrong.

They don't move very far, pinkies just skimming wood as he pulls his fingers back into fists.

And then he realizes that he is bound.

His eyes fly open almost simultaneously with the lurch in his stomach.

His head decides to join the party and a breathtaking pang of hurt spears across his vision as he gasps in a breath.

He chokes on the stale cloth flush up against his mouth and fights panic down.

Okay, so he's bound and gagged not like it hasn't happened before, usually under more pleasant circumstances, but…

He tries to take in his surroundings, squinting his tired eyes into the expanse around him.

He kicks out one of his feet, internally cursing when the only result is a lightning bolt of pain that shoots up to his knee.

He drags in a slow breath, trying to force the ache that has taken up residence in his bones to take a back seat to his quickly fading rationality.

He shifts and bangs his shoulder into more wood as he stretches his trapped hands out to grope for something useful.

Every digit is met with a barricade as his nails scrape wood. He turns to the other side and is met with a similar dilemma.

He blinks rapidly, hoping that will clear the ghastly vision that greets him from all sides.

Wood, plank after plank of rotting wood.

It can't be.

He kicks out in an act of desperation and almost sobs at the sight of a trickle of dirt falling to the ground.

Please, no.

He stretches his trembling restrained hands to touch the weeping soot that leaks from the crack he has caused.

He's in a coffin.

Buried alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: The plot thickens…actually it doesn't cause I haven't given you anything yet. But be patient, we'll be back to Dean in the next chapter and slowly but surely this mystery will be solved! Anywho, I hope you guys like this latest chapter if nothing else it has the Impala. :D Thank you for reading and reviewing and if I can manage it I'll put chapter 3 up tonight, cause I really want to know how Dean is doing too.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Dammit!" Sam slams the top of his brother's beloved car with his fist and resists the urge to kick the tire in pure frustration.

He leans down to open the door of the Impala and is struck by the wrongness of him being the one in the driver's seat. He instinctively looks over to the other seat and lets out a sigh when emptiness is all that greets him.

He cranks the key and the engine roars to life, loud and powerful and it almost feels like a protest from the car that Dean is not the one gripping the wheel.

"I know," Sam soothes, running a hand along the dash. "I know."

The jingle from his pocket snaps him out of his reverie as he digs for his phone.

"Yeah?" He inquires.

Bobby's voice filters through the phone. "Sam?"

"Yeah, it's me. What did you find?" He switches the car off and swipes his Dad's journal from under the seat.

"That's just it son, I didn't find anything."

"Nothing? Come on Bobby, you must have something."

"I wish to God I did Sam, but I came up with a big ol goose egg."

"Shit!" Sam hisses with another thump to the seat next to him.

"Quit beating up the car Sam, we'll get him back. And when we do he ain't gonna be none too happy that you are pounding on the car he spent weeks fixin'."

Sam runs his hand through his head. "I know, I know, it's just," He huffs out a breath. "There haven't been any survivors Bobby. Not a single one."

There is a long pregnant silence before Bobby chuckles. "Well then Dean's gonna be happy that he is the first. Gives that idjit something to brag about _when_ we find him."

Sam can feel his own echoing laughter waver as it leaves his lips. "Yeah, so what do we do next?"

"You stay put; I'm on my way to you right now. We'll figure this out."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Anytime kid." The old man grumbles before the line goes dead.

Sam eases the car out the parking lot. "Just hold on Dean," he whispers to the wind. "Please, just hold on."


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.: So I'm going to go ahead and set this is S2, sometime after…'Hunted.' So Sam knows the truth about what John said about him. We're back to Dean's POV, hope you like! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Years of training should have prepared him for this. Should have made it easy to calm the hell down and think of a logical way to get out of this situation. He should be able to handle any nightmare life throws his way.

Instead he's opted for curling up into a nearly fetal position and humming Metallica until the steady pulse in his head starts to feel like an eighteen wheeler rolling over his brain.

He can't stop though, can't take a second to look back around through gritty eyes at his surroundings or he might just lose his mind.

When he can finally feel that his pulse has slowed down and that the tremors that ran through his frame have subsided, he dares to look around again.

Everything looks distorted and small and dim. He doesn't know if it's his head playing tricks on him or what because the small wooden box he's in seems to shrink exponentially in size by the second.

_Okay, the coffin is not shrinking, seriously, it's __**not**__. You need to get a grip._

He braces his hands above his head driven by a need to touch his prison and make sure that it is not falling in around his head.

He holds his breath for a second and nothing happens.

A muffled cry of relief passes through his gag.

He's got to get out of here.

He pushes his tongue up against the dirty tasting cloth and tries to work it down to his chin.

Several times he has to stop because the taste of decay on the cloth is so strong.

_Suck it up sunshine, just a little more…_

He can't get the cloth to move past his bottom lip and with his lips finally free he can taste the copper tang of blood.

He doesn't know where it's coming from, whose it is, why it's there.

He tilts his head upwards and gropes around the top of his skull to try and determine where the injury is.

He brings his bound hands down to his face and can just barely make out the crimson streak across the cord.

He's bleeding…from his head.

The impaired vision suddenly makes much more sense as he realizes a slow ooze of blood is traveling down his face.

More things that seemed out of reach moments ago slide to the forefront of his mind.

Wait a minute, how can he see? He's in a coffin; it should be pitch black…

His eyes travel down to the soft glow of his open cell phone by his feet, the eerily unreal blue light finally having significance other than to make him feel like he is perched precariously on the edge of madness.

He twists his boots until the flat of the cell lies across his foot and then he pulls up using his trapped hands to bring the cellphone into his line of sight.

He swears that there _is_ a God and that he really, _really_ likes him.

No signal.

He renounces his newfound faith with a hopeless groan.


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: Going to try and get out another chapter tonight so we can find out what's going on with Dean. Thanks so much for all of the reviews and for reading! It means SO much to me! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Sam looks up at Bobby over the rim of his glass. "What do you got?"

Bobby pauses his furious research and rubs the spot between his eyes. "Migraine. How bout you?"

The younger man sighs. "Nothing. I don't get it, he didn't just vanish. _Something_ took him."

"Well unfortunately it didn't leave no breadcrumbs or ransom note so we're having to take a wild guess." Bobby groans and runs a hand down his face. "How long has he been gone anyway?"

Sam spares a quick glance to his watch. "Four hours." He mutters.

Panic flashes across the other man's face. "_Four _hours?" he questions looking back to the photos spread out over the bed. "Sam…" He breaks off as the Sam turns his gaze on him. "Man can't live through this for more than two." He pulls one of the photos up to his face. "I hate to say it, but is it possible that,"

"No." Sam states.

"Sam I was,"

"No!" Sam yells. "He's not dead! I'd know if he was. He can't be, he's fine, he's…Christ. He's _Dean_."

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder. "You're right Sam. I'm sure he's fine. Well not fine, but he's alive. We'll find him don't you worry."

Sam turns his face to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

"We got to be missing something. You said you two were scoping out the last place this spirit was seen right?"

"Yeah, we split up cause it's a huge area and we were supposed to meet back up in twenty minutes and he was gone, there nothing there either. I searched for an hour."

"Well what's the common factor here? There has to be something all these victims have in common."

"That's what we thought, but they have been found all over."

"Explain 'all over.'"

"Okay, one guy was in his backyard under his hammock, another one was buried in a ball field, another guy was found outside of a stripper joint, there is no pattern, it's all just random." He moans and fights the urge to slam his head into the table.

Bobby fans the pictures out on the table. "It's never just random boy," he replies and searches each image for a clue.

Sam lifts one of the pictures and tries not to concentrate on the gag drawn against the man's mouth or the fact that his fingernails are missing.

He can't however ignore the scratch marks on the wood.

He shudders thinking of his brother cast into that fate.

He sends up a silent prayer to God and examines the picture from top to bottom.

_What the…_

By the man's dirt covered tennis shoes he can just make out the tip of a metal lever.

He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at his discovery.

On the one hand it just bought them more time and his brother is surely alive, on the other hand Dean's torment could be prolonged...

Bobby sees the light bulb light up beneath the other man's eyes. "What did you find?"

Sam turns the photo towards him and points out the contraption.

"That's an oxygen tank Bobby, whoever did this left Dean with an oxygen tank."


	5. Chapter 5

His hand aches every time he swipes the tethered limb up against the jagged nail that sticks out haphazardly from somewhere behind him.

He hisses against the gag and ignores the slickness of his hands as blood joins the sweat that coats the appendage.

He had begun frantically sawing against the nail once he had seen the text messages that peppered his screen.

Ten minutes after he didn't show up. 'Dude, where are you?'

Twenty minutes. 'Dean?'

Thirty. 'Seriously man, where the hell are you?'

Forty. 'Dammit Dean! Answer your phone!'

Fifty. 'Dean? I hope you're just being a jackass to mess with me. Dean?'

One hour. 'Dean, don't worry. I'll find you.'

His first reaction to his brother's panic had been to call out for him, until he remembered sheepishly that he was underground and gagged.

His next reaction was to find something, _anything_, to help him free his hands because he couldn't spend one more second with his mouth full of death.

His hand slipped and the tip of the nail dug into his palm as a smothered grunt escaped his mouth.

He tried to think about how many times he had gotten out of impossible situations, how many times he had stood over his captors with rope or cable ties or cuffs in his hands and stated, 'Bondage really isn't your strong point huh?' right before he beat them into submission.

But all of those times were different, all of those times he had been topside, able to breathe and move and shift. Here every jolt of motion from his body is met with a barricade and he has to fight hard not to hyperventilate.

He needs that air, needs to concentrate and get the hell out of here.

Before his reason is pushed too far.

Before he brings the whole earth down on him just to _do_ something.

He rolls away from the nail for just a second and his leg whacks into something solid.

He cries out from instinct and tries not to think about another corpse occupying his prison or maybe even a rat…

An audible shudder runs through him and he sucks in a breath and reaches into the space he can't easily see with shaky hands.

_Please don't be a rat; please don't be a rat…or a body._

His hands close on a cold surface. Cold and…metallic?

_Fuck me._

Dean stares at the oxygen tank with something close to disbelief.

His hands clench the nozzle and then release and clench again.

_Nope, still here._

The last of the rope catches and frays against the edge of the metal and with a sigh of fabric his hands are free.

He flexes the digits and tries to ignore the throb of pain it causes. Each finger is coated in bright red liquid as Dean brings them up to his face to yank the cloth free.

_Okay so mouth is free, hands are free…now what?_

A moan of the earth shifting on top of his prison is all that answers him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.: Time to see what Sam is up too. This moves the plot along a bit. I hope you enjoy, I will try to get a Dean chapter out ASAP. Can't leave him down there too long…**

**Thanks SO much for all the support for this story. You guys are the wind beneath my wings, or something equally cheesy. :-D**

**Disclaimer: Nothing, but my own sadistic mind is mine.**

"What time is it?" Sam grumbles, tossing another stack of cringe-worthy photos to the end of the bed.

Bobby glances at his watch. "About ten minutes from the last time you asked."

Sam sighs and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I know, I know. Sorry. I'm just,"

"Going crazier than a shit house rat? Well join the club son, we both are."

Sam gets to his feet and strides over to the table the older man is bent over.

"Please tell me you have something,"

Bobby shifts over the stack of papers toward the younger Winchester. "Would if I could Sam, but minus your little discovery of the oxygen tank…"

"We got jack shit." Sam moans.

"Well, we know Dean has an oxygen tank in there with him. All of those poor bastards did. That buys us and your brother some time."

"Not enough," Sam huffs and tugs the laptop towards him.

Bobby pats him solidly on the shoulder. "Look, my eyes are about to fall out of my skull. I'm gonna take a walk around the parking lot and be right back. Maybe fresh air will help clear my head and we can figure out what we missed."

Sam nods. "Yeah, okay. That's a good idea."

The door closes behind him as he stares at the computer screen and wills the answer to come to him.

He pulls up the records of the missing men. Six of them in the last six months. All buried in different places, different states.

_Wait, a minute…._

All of them disappeared on the same day. The 15th of the month.

"Son of a bitch." Sam pushes out his brothers' favorite expletive through his teeth and pounds the date in on the laptop.

Pages and pages of results pour in. He's going to have to narrow this down.

He types disappearances next to the date and waits for something that will make sense of the cluster fuck of information to blink into existence on the screen.

There.

Right in front of him.

There is nothing remarkable about her but something in his gut tells him that she is part of the puzzle.

"Lily Scotts."

The door opens up behind him and with a hopeful grin Sam spins the computer to face the other hunter.

"I found it Bobby. I found what we've been missing."


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.: We're back to Dean, in that little pine box. *shudder* But hey, his mouth is free and his hands are free so that's something right? Anywho here is chapter 7. I hope you enjoy….because I can't be the only sick, sadistic fan that loves Dean in trouble. :P Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: Not even close to mine.**

He gives himself a full thirty seconds where he gulps for air, greedily sucking in every bit of available oxygen that doesn't taste like the grave he has been so wrongly cast in.

He gives himself another thirty seconds to relish his freedom. No matter how limited it is. He flexes each digit and feels a smile curl onto his lips that they no longer are constrained by that freakin' rope.

All it takes for reality to slam back down on him is the flicker of his cell screen. The blue light flashes sporadically as he pulls the device to him.

Low battery.

"Dammit." He grumbles as he stares at the blinking battery indicator with disdain.

Oh well, not like it can do much to help him anyway.

He clicks the phone off and pockets it, wincing at the rub of the denim against his injury.

His feet end up in either corner of the coffin as he braces his hands above, searching, gingerly for any sort of give or weakness that he can use to get the hell out of here.

Every time he tentatively presses on the wooden box there is a creak of earth shifting on top of him.

He pulls his hands back with an uttered "Jesus." Not sure whether it is a curse or a prayer.

He cants his head to the right and strains to hear something other than the maddening silence he is encased in.

Nothing.

Not even a whistle of wind passes through his prison.

He resists the urge to punch the wall in frustration.

He tries to remember how he got here, what had happened after Sam and he had split up.

Flashes of being grabbed and thrown burst like a firework in his head, complete with the too bright colors and the crackle of intensity.

It's no use; the concussion is messing with his recall.

He swipes the sleeve of his flannel shirt across his head, pleased when the color of the blood that greets him is brown red and not the vibrant hue of a more pressing injury.

He lets his heart and his breathing slow as he takes stock of the tools he has at his disposal.

Oxygen tank. He could use the thing to break one of the boards and dig himself out…and completely screw himself if he is too far down.

Next.

He fumbles for the contents in his pockets.

Lighter. Lighter+Oxygen tank= Crispy fried Dean.

Next.

Cell phone, with a dying battery and no signal… About as helpful as a drunk Sammy and not nearly as entertaining.

A knife….that might come in handy.

He counts his physical belongings and breathes a sigh of relief when he can feel the amulet shift on his chest.

He has no way of knowing how far down he is, if Sam is coming, how long he has been down there…when his air will run out.

Dean thunks his head against the wooden backing.

He's so fucked.


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.:Well we're back to Sam. Let's see what he has figured out. Thanks again for all of the reads and reviews, sorry if it takes me awhile to get back to get back to you, but I appreciate every single one. :-) Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"This is it Bobby!" Sam yells. "This is what we've been waiting for!"

Bobby holds a hand up. "Whoa, slow down there Sam. You're not making any sense."

"No," Sam begins clutching the research papers in his hands. "No, this does make sense."

"Okay, so you're saying this…" he gestures to the younger hunter.

"Lily."

"Lily girl has something to do with Dean disappearing?"

"Yes," Sam starts and spreads the papers out in from of Bobby. "We were looking in all the wrong places, she was the first one buried, thirty years ago. And now all the clues Dean and I found; the bucket and pale, the haunted playground, now it all makes sense."

"But what does she have to do with this? Why would she take Dean?"

Sam eyes dart back to his laptop. "I don't know. " He states plopping down in front of the computer. "It says they never found out who killed her."

"Go on,"

"Listen to this. Stepfather of poor Lily Scott stated "She was just gone. I turned my back for just a moment and she was gone."

"Let me see that," Bobby grumbles and takes the laptop. "Last place she was seen was playing in the sandbox at Dixie playground. "It was her favorite spot," her mother said. "She loved playing in the sand more than anything."

"Right," Sam starts. "Now look at this." He places a newspaper in front of Bobby.

"What am I looking for Sam?"

Sam presses his finger onto a shadowed figure that lurks behind a tree. "That guy, right there."

Bobby squints at the picture. "Well he's creepy, but that ain't exactly against the law."

"I just got a bad feeling looking at him so I looked for him in police records and sure enough he had priors. Two priors for harassing little girls."

"Sicko." Bobby replies disgusted as he runs a hand down his face. He takes in Sams' almost giddiness with a sigh. "Well tell me what you really found before you wet the floor in excitement."

"Shut up," he mutters heatlessly as he yanks the newly printed page from the printer. "Look at this. Who does that remind you of?"

Bobby takes the pages and scrutinizes it. "Well fuck me." He breathes.

"He looks like Dean Bobby. That evil son of a bitch looks like Dean."


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.: Here we are at Chapter 9. This little ditty was only supposed to be ten chapters….yeah that's not happening. :P Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He's stretching his cell phone in the corner of the coffin to try and get a signal the first time it happens.

His fingers shimmer in and out of his sight until they disappear completely.

His hands are suddenly petite and delicate and _young._ Not a blemish or a wrinkle mars the porcelain skin.

_The hands claw and pound futilely at their wooden cage, breath hitching in panic as the mouth opens and a pitiful scream escapes._

_Fear so real it __**aches**__ grips them tight, as they scream for a savior that will never come._

Dean comes out of the vision or whatever the hell that was with a physical jolt so powerful that he curls in on his body to try and fight the anguish that pours into him.

"What the…" he pants.

He has only a moment to catch his breath before he is propelled none too gently into another vision.

_Her sunflower colored dress billows up around her as she twirls, gay laughter pouring from her and her father's mouth._

_She feels loved and safe and like she belongs. Her father tells her he will be right back, that he has to get something out of the car and she happily plops down in the sand. She has always loved the sand, the feel of it as it glides through her fingers. She wonders what it would be like to go to the beach, she's always wanted to. She can see her Dad bent over into the minivan…when he gets back she will ask him if she can go, maybe for her birthday._

_A hand clasps over her mouth and she lets out a muffled squeal before gulping in chloroform._

_Everything goes black._

_She comes to and she hurts. It's pain worse than she's ever felt before and she cries out for her Mom, shocked when the sound bounces back at her._

_She can't remember much, she was grabbed. _

_Her head pounds and her mouth is unpleasantly dry. She reaches up to press a hand into her head as if that will make all of this go away._

_She can't move her hands, they're bound._

_She starts to cry and squeezes her eyes shut. That makes nightmares go away, that's what Mommy and Daddy said._

_Her eyes open. She's still trapped._

Dean gasps back into reality with fresh tears pouring down his cheeks, his breath sawing out of him in a ragged wheeze. His next breath hisses out in a wisp of visible air as a disembodied voice growls.

_NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FELT._

Hopelessness and despair threaten to crush him as he cries out. "Why are you doing this?"

Countless images filter into his mind. Hands and arms and a scratchy voice. The pleasure, the sickness, the fear at being caught, the joy of getting away with it, the elation that he will never have to pay for his sins…

Flashes of a struggle and terrified cries as a little girl fights a faceless man. Until he leans down into the coffin to kiss the unconscious girl tenderly on the forehead.

It's _his_ face. It's _his _eyes that twinkle with a malicious glee. It's _his_ voice that murmurs. "Sweet dreams Lily." _His _hands that pound the final nail into place and drop the dirt onto the coffin like he is wrapping his favorite present.

"No," he groans.

It wasn't him, he never did that, _would _never do that.

This ghost has it all wrong.

"It wasn't me," he whispers, his strength momentarily depleted from the onslaught of emotions.

_YOU WILL PAY._

The temperature returns to normal as the ghostly presence leaves the box.

Dean is alone again.

And afraid.

"It wasn't me." He states to the top of the coffin, pleading with the malevolent spirit.

His throat is tight.

"God," he moans, feeling sick at the pictures that depicted him as the killer. "It wasn't me."

There is no response. His breath quickens.

"IT WASN'T ME!" He roars, slamming a fist into the makeshift ceiling.

He hears a whisper of sound.

_THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY._


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.: Soooooo...I just got back from Denver and seeing my brother. Sorry I left you guys hanging for so long. Here is the latest in the 'Trapped' saga, hope you enjoy. Thank you SO much for all the support. To make up for the long hiatus I am going to attempt to post another chapter tonight. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

His whole body is humming in anticipation.

Ever since he found the newest clue, he has been waiting for the final puzzle piece to fall into the place, the last aha moment so he can go save his brother.

A quick glance at the tacky overhead clock shows him that they only have a little over an hour left before...

His face must have shifted from determination to dread because Bobby suddenly speaks up.

"Sam, none of that now. We almost cracked this walnut."

Sam shakes his head. "Yeah, I know. I know. Thanks."

Bobby taps onto the table. "You got it kid, now help me figure out what we ain't seeing. Thinking maybe your brother is ready for this whole shit trip to be over with."

Sam runs a hand through his hair as he drops into the chair with a stressed laugh. "Yeah, I'll bet he is too."

"Well, what do we got?"

"Um...well we know all of the victims that Lily took looked a little bit like Dean. She's trying to get revenge."

Bobby nods. "Revenge on this..." he pauses to grab a stack of papers. "Travis Little."

"Right. But he's dead. Bastard offed himself shortly after burying Lily."

Bobby growls low in his throat. "If there is one thing I can't stand, it's a fucking coward. Not enough that he tortured this poor kid, but he took the easy way out too."

Sam's face darkens along with his voice. "I wouldn't worry about that. I don't think he got off easy in the end."

"Here's hoping." Bobby states taking a swig from the soda can in front of him. "But how does that help us?"

"It doesn't." Sam grumbles. "It's so close Bobby, so goddamn close..." His hands stretch out to the pile of information.

"What are we missing Sam?" Bobby asks pulling his cap from his head. "What in the world are we missing?"

Sam runs a finger down the print. "We know who took him, we know why, we just don't know where."

"And since trying to summon the little angel did nothing but ruin the rug we got to figure it out."

Sam casts another desperate look to the clock. "And soon."

Bobby grunts in agreement.

"I wish I could figure out what the hell the link is. Why were they all buried in different places, what is the connection?"

Bobby shrugs. "I don't know." he picks up one of the articles. "Wait a minute,"

Sam jumps up. "What is it?"

"Listen to this. The wife of Steve Mulligan stated that he was found underneath a tree in their backyard, directly under his hammock."

"Go on."

"It was his favorite place he told his wife."

"Hold on," Sam rifles through another stack of articles. "Hector Dominguez he was found in the ball field, he almost went pro. He threw out his shoulder," he breaks off and scans the rest of the story. "It was his favorite place."

"What about Lily, where did they find her?"

"In the playground that she was originally kidnapped in. Buried right by the sandbox."

"Yahtzee." Bobby grins.

"I know where he is." Sam says thrusting his Dad's journal into a duffel and grabbing his jacket.

"Sam, wait just a second." the older man tries to absorb what Sam is telling him as he reaches for his own jacket.

The younger hunter waves the keys in his hand on the way our the door. "Bobby, I know where Dean is!"


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N.: I promised you guys another chapter and another chapter you shall have! You would have had it HOURS ago, but FFN wouldn't let me log in. Sorry for the delay on responses to reviews, they mean the world to me. Thank you so, SO much. Hope you guys enjoy this!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He doesn't know where he is when he comes to. He can't quite recall what piece of shit motel they had stopped in this time as he stretches out his form. He knuckles crash into wood and the shallow breath he takes in is stale and thick.

"Dude, it's stifling in here. Crack a damn window." he grouses and tries to roll over only to knock into another obstacle.

"What the fuck Sam? Did you tuck me in?" He paws for the nightstand and sighs as his hands meet another barricade.

"Sam?" His eyes crack open and he blinks. His eyes are weary and gritty and usually only feel this way after a bender.

"Sam?" He calls again fingers reaching out to grab his brother.

One more hollow knock is all it takes to send him spinning violently back into truth.

His eyes widen, his pulse quickens, and his muscles pull tight.

Not a piece of shit hotel, a coffin. A goddamn wooden prison.

He resists the urge to call out for his brother again. He's not here. No one is here.

Just him.

Him and Lily.

And even she left him.

He can dimly remember screaming, pleading, begging, sobbing. His grit wearing thin with ghastly images his mind had been clouded with and then...

He passed out? Shit, he can't remember.

How could he have wasted so much precious oxygen?

As if on cue breathing becomes much harder, each bit of oxygen fighting to get through the thick air.

Everything smells like dirt. He's covered in it.

He pats his hands around the outline of his body gauging damage.

His head is pounding, worse than before.

The wound on his head has opened up again and his palms come away with fresh blood.

"Son of a bitch." he groans as his eyes spy a small break in the wood above him.

A trickle of dirt sifts through the slats.

He head-butted it? Sounds about right.

He can't believe how much time he spent yelling into the empty space around him. Not like it did any good.

The spirit really did nothing but mock him.

There is a muted chime from the cell phone at the bottom of the box.

Dean reaches down to grab it and bumps into the oxygen tank.

As he pulls the phone back up towards him he can see in the dull light the needle resting on the foreboding E.

His phone beeps to remind him that the battery is one step away from dying.

His starved lungs ache as if to remind him that he is one breath away from dying.

He has no signal, no battery, no air left.

No hope.


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.: So…you guys ready for another chapter? In this chapter we find out what Dean's favorite place is (I screwed myself out of the Impala when I had her with Sam in the 2nd chapter *sigh*) but I gave you guys some AWESOME Bobby to make up for it. Hope you enjoy! Thanks again for all the support! Special thanks to my dear friend Dorothy for helping me tweak the chapter. *hugs* **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Sam slides into the driver seat of the Impala and is almost immediately joined by Bobby.

The contrast of the other occupant not being Dean sends a painful pang through his heart.

The older hunter swings his duffel over his shoulder and into the back seat.

"Where are we going Sam?"

The younger Winchester guns the engine and looks sideways at Bobby. "To Dean's favorite place."

He puts the car in gear and races out of the parking lot.

"Which is?"

"Back when Mom was alive and I was only a couple of months old we all went to this lake, right outside of Lawrence. It's where Dad taught Dean how to fish and where he skipped his first rock," His words taper off as he digs a faded photo out from the glove box. "Here."

Bobby stares at the picture for just about a minute before he says. "That was a long time ago Sam, you sure it hasn't changed since then?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

The older man sighs. "I don't mean to be a dick about this but we only have one shot at finding him," he pauses and clasps a hand on Sam's' shoulder. "Sam, are you sure?"

Sam lets out a shaky breath. "I _know_ it is Bobby. I mean, it was a toss-up between that and the Impala, and unless he's buried in the trunk somewhere, this is the only other place. He told me... well, every time he digs through that damn glove box and stumbles across that picture he tells me. It was taken the last time, in the last place we were together as a family, before..." He breaks off and tries to rein in the torrent of emotion swelling in his chest. "I'm sure."

"Well alright then, put down the hammer son."

"How far is it to Clinton Lake?"

Bobby pulls a map out from underneath the seat. "Bout an hour."

Devastation takes over Sam's face by degrees. "An hour...we'll never make it." he whispers mournfully.

"Oh yes we will," Bobby starts digging out his cell phone. "You worry about getting us to your brother; I'll take care of the rest."

Sam pushes the pedal to the floor as he darts in between lanes of traffic.

"Harrison, it's me Bobby. I need a pathway to Clinton Lake. He shifts the phone to his other ear. "From St. Mary's." he pauses and leans over to eye the speedometer. "About 90. Yeah whole way there, thanks I owe you." He shuts his phone with a grin.

"What the hell was that?"

"Got a hunter buddy on the county police, owes me about a half a dozen favors."

"And?"

"And you can push this car to the limit; no cops are going to pull us over."

"How did you manage that?" Sam inquires.

"Son, you don't get arrested as many times as I have without making a few friends."

He laughs in response. "You rock."

"Don't you forget it." He taps Sam on his hand. "Now pay attention to the road, can't exactly save your brother if we end up in an accident."

Sam steels his grip on the steering wheel and pushes the car up to 95mph.

"We're coming Dean. Just hang in there."

The Impala roars in agreement.

**A.W.: Clinton Lake, St. Mary's are both real places. At least according to Google and Google never lies. :P**


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N.: Here is chapter 13! More Dean angst for those of you who love it! Hope you enjoy. :-)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He may as well face it.

Sam's not going to find him.

Not that he gave up, or that he isn't trying to get to him, but that by the time he finds him (if) there will only be an empty shell of where Dean used to be.

The simple act of breathing becomes steadily harder. It should just be in and out but he finds that he is short of breath within minutes now.

He starts to cry. A fact that he feels ashamed about, but he can't help it. He can't prevent the sadness from overtaking him as he thinks about how he would feel if the roles were reversed.

If Sam was the one missing, running out of air…

"I know you can hear me you bitch!" He roars. "You've got the wrong guy! I have a brother that needs me, I save people," he heaves in a breath each intake of air becoming a struggle. "_Please_,"

"Goddammit," he groans, his mind flashing through images of Sam. Finding him, standing over a burning pyre his eyes red, grieving for him as he becomes the last living member of the Winchester family.

His head has resumed its steady thrum of pain, and the rest of his body is tight as distress entangles his limbs.

He's going to die.

In the ground.

His last moments are going to be spent fighting for specks of oxygen, gulping in the last remaining air like a fish, pleading for life with his last breath.

Like all of those other poor bastards.

Terrified.

Alone.

Trapped.

No.

He won't go out like some crazed lunatic. If this is it he's going out at peace. Something he has been denied his entire life.

He lets his muddled mind drift. Towards Mom and Dad and Sam. Towards memories of when life was simple, and love was abundant.

He can't remember the last time he has felt this. Maybe it's the concussion or the oxygen deprivation, but he feels happy. He feels like if this is how he goes it could be worse. In his line of work it could be so much worse.

He thinks about the burdens that will be stripped away from him. He won't have to carry the guilt of his father trading his life for his, the pain, the overwhelming responsibility of keeping Sam safe. He'll be free from the maddening worry that Sam might turn into a monster someday, that he might have to put a bullet between those puppy dog eyes.

_So you're taking the easy way out. You're just going to leave him all alone?_

The gravelly voice that bounces around in his cranium startles him and all of his visions of peace shatter and leave horror in their wake.

Sam would be vulnerable, broken, too twisted by grief and rage to care about what path his feet were taking him.

Dean couldn't leave him alone, couldn't sentence his brother to that fate.

His eyes snap open as he stares at the dilapidated wood above him. Fury starts to replace the fear that has consumed his mind as he thinks about the unfairness of it all.

He's _not _going to die.

He can't.

He won't.

He's Dean fucking Winchester and he is getting _out_.

With no previous thought to what the repercussions to his actions could be he slams a fist into the decrepit wood.

It groans and starts to give away as he does it again and again. His body long since spent, his spirit refusing to die.

"Hurry the hell up Sam!" he yells as an ooze of dirt falls onto his face. "Getting a little tired of being in this shit hole!"

He lies back down with a moan as his strength gives out. His vision starts to tunnel in as he fights the urge to pass out.

He can taste dirt on his lips as everything starts to fade away.

He swears he hears Sam yelling his name.

_Sorry Sammy. Not gonna make it. Can't hang on anymore…_

**A.W.: Coming up...Sammy to the rescue! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N.: The moment we've all been waiting for folks, Sammy to the rescue! Thank you so much for all of the love and support you guys have given this story and no worries there are still several more chapters to go. :-D I hope you guys like the latest. Thanks again!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

The Impala spits out pieces of gravel as Sam flies into the parking lot, one hand reaching into the back seat for his shovel as the other yanks the keys out of the ignition.

"How much time do we have left Bobby?" Sam inquires, scanning the location for where his brother might be.

"Thirty minutes. What do you see Sam?"

Sam casts his eyes to the scenery. "He's here, I know it."

Bobby shifts the duffel on his shoulder. "There's a lot of 'here' to choose from. "

"I know!" Sam shouts in frustration, running a hand through his hair. Desperation begins to run rampant through his body as he digs for the crumpled photo in his pocket. "Come on Dean, come on." He whispers.

He holds the photo up eye level with the backdrop of the lake. "Please," he begs as he scrutinizes the image of his older brother holding him on his lap. Right below the…

Sam squints into the distance at the Cottonwood tree, off colored green leaves swaying in the breeze. His eyes travel down to the barely noticeable mound scattered with fallen leaves.

Without even thinking about it his feet take off, shovel clanging against his back as he slides down to the base of the tree.

"Dean!" He screams, his fingers burying into the dirt. "Dean, I'm coming!"

The swish of a shovel digging into the ground sounds next to his hands as Bobby taps his shoulder with the shovel handle.

Sam reaches up for the handle, his hands shaking.

Wordlessly he and Bobby dig side by side, the sun on their backs, the ominous ticking of Sam's watch driving them on.

They are both so invested in their mission that neither of them notice the little girl blink into existence behind them.

_HE'S MINE._

They whirl around, shovels in hand.

_YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM._

"Lily, you have the wrong guy. My brother is a good guy, he would never," He breaks off as the front of Bobby's spade crosses through her.

"Jesus!" Sam hisses.

"Don't waste time talking to them Sam. "Bobby says turning back away from him.

"You brought an iron shovel?"

Bobby looks at him with a smirk. "You didn't?" he asks, heaving a load of dirt of his shoulder.

He smiles and can't wait to tell Dean about this when he gets him out.

The steady noise of metal meeting dirt is interrupted by a solid and hearty thunk.

"Was that?"

"It was." Bobby beams. "With two minutes to spare."

He is just leaning down to help grasp the lid when Lily appears again.

_NO!_ She bellows as Bobby body is flung into the tree.

He crumbles unconscious to the ground as Sam goes to run to him.

_TICK TOCK. _ The girl mocks him.

Sam feels his vision go red as he hefts Bobby's shovel up and over his shoulder and down into the ghostly figure.

She disappears with a shriek.

"Dean! Dean, if you can hear me hold on!" He scrambles for the salt in the duffel and places a ring around the tree.

Lily emerges into his line of sight, wrath twisting her once innocent features into something monstrous.

_YOU CAN'T. _She yelps.

This bitch took his brother.

"Sorry," he starts reaching down to pry open the coffin lid. "No ghosts allowed."

He doesn't hear the growling from behind him as the ghost roars, all he sees is his brother, in the fetal position, his hands curled around his diaphragm as if he is trying to keep that last breath trapped in his lungs.

Splatters of blood adorn his head and his clothes.

"Dean?" He questions, noticing the dusting of dirt in his hair, on his shirt and comically on his mouth. Under different circumstances Sam would think his older brother had just finished off a box of Oreos.

But this is not different circumstances, this is…

"Dean!" He yells, reaching down and gripping the front of his brothers' shirt. "Dean!"

He shakes him once, terror lighting up in his belly when there is no response.

"Please Dean," he mutters, his palm lying on Dean's chest, his head resting on the bloodied and gritty forehead of his older brother. _"Please."_

A flutter of movement jolts under his palm as he pulls back with a gasp.

"Dean?" He blinks away the tears forming in his eyes. "Dean?"

"Smmy?" is the muffled response.

"Dean? Thank God!" he cries out, pulling his brother up out of the coffin and into an awkward embrace.

Dean turns his head into the open air and drags in a shaky breath.

"Sam?"

Sam can't reply, his throat too choked up with emotion.

Dean gulps in air and reaches up to grab onto the edge of Sam's jacket.

"Sammy, are you really here?" he gasps.

Sam makes a noise somewhere between a chortle and a sob. "Yeah Dean, I'm really here."

"That's good." He huffs. "That's good."

"Ready to get out of here bro?"

"Yeah, but I'm gonna pass out now Sammy."

"Okay Dean."

"Not dead?" He groans as Sam helps him out of the hole.

"No," Sam says with a watery chuckle. "Not dead. I got you Dean. You're going to be okay."

Dean throws a tired grin his way. "Thanks Sammy." He mutters.

"Anytime Dean." Sam grins, throwing an arm around his shoulder and taking most of his weight. "Anytime."


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.: Sorry it has taken me so long to update, it's been a rough week. Just a bit of comfort and this chapter, we won't get to the salt and burn until the next chapter. I hope you enjoy, thank you so, so, SO much for all of the support. You guys rock my socks! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He jerks back into being with a choked gasp.

"Whoa easy Dean, easy."

His mind registers that there is light pooling into wherever he is and his hands are digging into leather. Not wood, not dirt, not fleeting air, but leather.

His baby.

"Where?" He grouses, patting the palm that cups around his shoulder by habit.

"The Impala." Sam replies, taking his hand away from his place in the passenger seat but his eyes still shooting beams of concern directly at his older brother.

Dean pants as he pushes up on his elbows. "What?"

Sam smiles at him. "You're out Dean. We got you out."

Dean still feels like his thoughts are having trouble coming to a coherent agreement as he mumbles. "We?"

The older man driving his baby turns in his seat and tilts his head at him. "Yeah, we."

Bobby.

His bandaged hands reach out to the other hunter taking note of the crimson stained gauze pulled tight around Bobby's head.

"Your head,"

Bobby pulls his cap down a bit further on his head and chuckles dryly. "Yeah, seems to be going around."

"Huh?" he questions reaching up to touch his own head. His gauze wrapped head.

"You were bleeding pretty badly, I know it's a crap job, but it's just until we get to the hospital."

"Hospital?" His mouth is dry and tastes faintly of vomit. He has to clear his throat several times to get out words that don't sound roughshod with pain. "Why?"

"Dean," Sam begins, his voice soft and full of compassion. "You really wrecked yourself bro. Your hands…" he breaks off as Dean flexes his hands with a hiss. "Jesus Dean, your hands are really bad."

"I'm fine." He grunts.

"Fine?" Sam scoffs. "Dean, you almost…" his younger brother's Adam apple bobs up and down, an action that is synonymous with Dean's guilt.

In an instant Dean slides back into his rightful place as the protector in this relationship and he stretches one of his covered hands to grab onto Sam's jacket.

"Almost is part of the job Sammy." He coughs to clear more grit from his mouth. "Almost makes for great stories."

Sam laughs and Bobby snorts.

"Almost doesn't count." Dean finishes with what he hopes is a winning grin.

Bobby nods. "Damn straight it doesn't."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, passing back a half full water bottle to his brother. "You need to try to drink this before we get to the hospital unless you'd rather have an IV. And slowly, I don't really want to have you puke on me…twice."

"Puke?" Dean mutters, quickly getting tired of sounding like a parrot.

Sam grimaces and says, "Yeah, it's no big deal." As Dean spies the splattered orange stain across his brother's T shirt.

"Ugh," he whispers.

"Couldn't stop you from gulping down the warm Gatorade in the back seat, and then well…you couldn't really handle it."

"Sorry dude." He grumbles.

"It's fine. But you need to hydrate before we get to hospital."

"We're not going to the hospital."

"What?" Sam and Bobby ask simultaneously.

Dean sees disbelief and anger start to light up on both of their faces. They think he is just being a stubborn ass, which he is. But he has a good reason.

"Yet," he states with a nervous chortle. "There is something else we have to do first."

"What does that mean Dean?" Sam asks and it doesn't escape Dean's notice that he is fighting to stay calm.

Dean's hands open and close in the air, remembering the feel of feather light material in them, remembering the desolation that had consumed her heart.

"We have to take care of Lily Sam." Dean says. "Once and for all."

Sam takes a moment to take in Dean's countenance before he turns back towards Bobby with a curt nod.

"You heard him Bobby."

The oldest of the trio sighs. "Fine, but I ain't gettin' thrown into any more trees. I've reached my head injury quota for the week."

Sam and Dean smother a laugh and reply with. "Yes Sir."


	16. Chapter 16

**A.N.: So is it time for a new chapter of Trapped…I think so. Hope you guys enjoy the latest update, I'm working on 17 right now. Thank you so much for all of the reviews (Holy shit there is 100!) I appreciate it SO much. Bless all of you.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He can't stop watching him. Even though he's painfully aware of how creepy it is, thanks to Bobby's constant quips, Sam cannot make himself tear his eyes from his brothers sleeping form for long. Dean's head is resting on the window, one of his hands lies in his lap while his other is positioned on the leather surface, almost as if he is petting his car. Sam knows it's stupid, he knows it's weak, he knows if Dean was conscious right now he would be giving him hell for it, but still...almost was too close for comfort for Sam. In fact, if they could spend the rest of their lives avoiding almost, he'd be a happy man.

"Seriously Sam, for about thirty minutes it was heartwarming, now it's just weird." Bobby gruffs, his hands shifting restlessly on the wheel.

Sam laughs softly. "I know Bobby, I know I just..."

"We made it Sam. Dean's no worse for wear." He concludes, clicking on the turning signal.

"Not that we can see." Sam replies, sitting forward to peer out of into the cemetery. "We here already?"

"Already?" Bobby starts, craning his head from side to side with an audible pop. "Says the lazy watch dog who _hasn't_ been driving the last two hours."

"Hey!" Sam whispers. "I offered to drive, twice! You said you were fine."

"Can you guys just skip to the kiss and makeup part already; you're giving me a headache." A scratchy, annoyed voice sounds from the backseat.

"Dean! You're awake."

Dean rubs at his fatigued eyes as he pulls himself up by the back of Sam's seat. "We here?"

Bobby swings the door open. "We're here. Now to find the little darlin' and well..." he shrugs his bag up onto his shoulder. "You know."

The back door opens with a creak as Dean rises up on shaky feet. "You should stay here Bobby," Dean pauses, leaning his body up against the frame as Sam runs over. "Sam and I can handle this."

"What?" Sam questions, linking his arm through his brother's. "Dean, we need all the help we can get."

Dean yanks his arm back with a hushed. "Dude, personal space." and appears to fight a wave of dizziness.

"Yeah son, you look like you haven't gotten your sea legs back so to speak." Bobby says.

"I'm fine." Dean grunts. "Look, she already knocked you off of your ass once, I don't want," he pauses and bends down to grab the bag from the backseat.

Sam watches for a sign that Dean is about to run out of his backup reserve of stubbornness and determination.

"I don't think," Bobby begins, exchanging a confused glance with Sam.

Sam watches his brother sigh and gaze at his bandaged hands with fascination for just a moment. He watches as fear and anger and pity flash across his face in the blink of an eye before his facade slides back into place.

"This one is personal Bobby. We have to take care of this." Sam says, reaching to take the bag from his brothers shaking hands.

Dean nods.

Bobby huffs and takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair. "Hurry your asses up; don't make me come get you. I'll keep an eye out for the groundskeeper."

"Thanks Bobby." both boys chirp in unison as Dean manages an almost sincere smile.

* * *

><p>"You okay?"<p>

"I'm fine."

Sam snorts. "Dean, nobody would be fine after what you've been through."

"I'm a hunter Sam. Been through enough sick shit to have grown a pretty thick skin."

Sam breaks out the canister of salt and starts his formation of the circle.

"I know, I just,"

"Don't Sam!" he yells, his voice hoarse as it carries out into the sunlit graveyard.

Sam's head snaps up at the noise.

"Just don't okay?" he implores. "Not now Sammy."

Sam dips his head and pivots to where he can plunge the tip of the shovel into grave.

Dean slumps against the tree that canvasses the simple grave; his eyes glued to the weather worn teddy bear and freshly cut daisies laid at the base of the headstone.

"I got this Dean; you can sit this one out."

Dean's answer is lost in the wind, but Sam could swear it sounded like. "I wish I could."

The second the metal reverberates with the tale tell sound of striking wood, a chill passes through Sam the likes of which he has never felt and his brother utters. "Lily."

Her image wavers as she cries out. _DON'T! DON'T DO THIS!_

A shiver runs through his frame.

"Lily, we have to do this. You have to,"

_YOU! _She begins, pointing a trembling finger at his brother's figure. _YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO BE SAVED!_

Her image flickers and in that instant her innocent and frightened front fade with her. She looks mad, her face emblazoned with rage and revenge.

_YOU HAVE TO BE PUNISHED! _She shrieks and Sam can see in his peripheral vision that rocks and other pieces of nostalgia are being hefted into the air.

"Lily, don't do this, we're trying to help you!" Sam yells into the swirling mass of debris.

"Quit trying to talk to her Sam, let's get this shit done!" Dean yells as he pulls himself back to his feet.

Sam reaches into the grave to clear away the dirt and grabs onto the handle of the coffin.

_NO! _She roars as she charges forward. The salt line is blow away in her fury as Dean scrambles over to her bones with his lighter in hand.

Sam throws one of his arms over his face as remains of loved ones homages come flying straight at them.

He feels the cold hand past through him and into his chest simultaneously with the ignition of Dean's lighter.

_DO IT AND HE DIES._

His brothers' lighter clicks shut as Dean mumbles. "Goddammit."


	17. Chapter 17

**A.N.: Sorry for the cliffie last chapter folks. But here is the real deal. The last stand for Lily Scott. I hope you guys enjoy and I still have a couple more chapters left before I wrap this up. Thank you so much for the support. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

'This is _not _good.' Dean thinks as he engages in some sort of sick game of chicken with the spirit of Lily Scott.

Sam pants as he stares at his brother. Dean searches his brother's eyes for a signal that he needs to light this bitch up, but all he sees is fear.

Lily catches on to the silent conversation being carried on between the Winchesters and suddenly Sam is on his knees, crying out in pain.

_DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT._

Her small and fragile arm twists and Sam howls out.

"Sam!" Dean bellows as he tosses the lighter away from him. "Okay Lily, you win. Just stop."

She giggles and though Dean can't see it, he imagines her fingers unclenching from around his brother's heart as his younger brother's face loses the tense lines of hurt.

"Dean," Sam breathes.

"You okay Sammy?" he calls, never taking his gaze from Lily's tiny hidden fist.

He nods.

_HE WON'T BE IF YOU DON'T LET ME GO. _ She whispers.

"Lily, just let go of Sam. It's me you want, just," he starts.

_NO! YOU DON'T GET TO SPEAK, AFTER WHAT YOU DID,_ her voice wavers as her hand begins its ascent out of Sam's chest.

"It wasn't Dean," Sam replies. "The man you're looking for," his voice pauses and breaks into a guttural moan of agony as her hand slams back through him.

"Lily, don't! Listen to us!" Dean yells.

_YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO ME! WHEN I BEGGED AND PLEADED AND CRIED TO GO HOME, TO LET ME OUT! _ Her rage splinters into sorrow as tears start to track down her face.

"Travis Little was the bastard that did this to you." Sam grits out. "Not Dean."

"Shut up Sam." Dean mutters to him.

"Look at him Lily," Sam gasps. "Really look."

Her eyes travel Dean's face, hand still buried somewhere in Sam's sternum.

_BUT…_

"It wasn't him. He's dead."

Both of her hands fly to her mouth in shock. _BUT HE…_

Sam collapses onto the ground; his arms curled protectively around his stomach.

Dean takes her momentary sign of weakness to race over to his brother.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"I think so."

_HE'S DEAD? _She whimpers. _THEN I,_

"You didn't know." Sam states, trying to reassure the despairing spirit.

_I KILLED THOSE MEN. I KILLED, _her figure sputters out of sight for several seconds and when it blinks back into being the malice is gone from her face, leaving behind overwhelming regret.

Her fingernails are bent and jagged from frantic attempts to escape, the hem of her once yellow dress is torn and dirtied by earth, her face is so young and remorseful that Dean feels an unbidden breath hiss out through clenched teeth.

_I didn't mean to,_ she begins, ghostly chest heaving with a sob.

Dean grabs onto the top of Sam's jacket and thrusts them both to their feet.

"Lily," San starts, startled into silence when Dean touches a hand to his shoulder.

"I got this Sammy." He says quietly, shuffling his feet back to towards her grave.

_How could I? I thought, I thought._

"You thought you were punishing the evil son of a bitch who did this to you." Dean says. "I get it. He deserved it and worse, but he's dead. And if there is any justice in this world he is paying for his crimes." Dean pauses to pick up his discarded lighter. "It's time for it to be over."

_Over?_

"Yeah, over."

Her arms wrap around her figure. _What does that mean?_

"It means you have to move on."

_Move on to what? _She inquires, eyes landing on her headstone.

"Wish I knew what to tell you."

_I'm scared. What if it's worse than?_

"What? What you've already been through?" Dean gives a hollow laugh as he thinks about the desolation, the fear, the madness, the vice around every inch of him as time, air and hope bled out of the wooden box. "It can't be." He whispers.

Her chin trembles as iridescent tears run down her face.

"It's time to rest." Dean says, flicking open his lighter and igniting it.

She nods and draws in quivering and needless breath. _I'm so sorry._

Dean's face splits into a shaky half smile. "I know."

She returns the smile; only a trace of fear left as he bends down and sets fire to her bones.

A warm glow envelops the middle of her form and she favors them both with a relieved smile as she vanishes with the soft whisper of _thank you_ hanging in the air.

He feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the area as Sam places his palm on his back.

"Dean?"

Dean swallows hard. "Yeah?"

"Are you?"

"No." Dean cuts him off. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Sam nods and reaches over to take the lighter from his brother's clenched fist. "It's over Dean. Let it go."

Dean's fingers uncurl from the object compressed into his palm as an errant tear runs down his face. "Yeah, okay Sammy."


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N.: So here is the recovery chapter that you guys have been waiting for, and a break from the angst. A couple more to go and we will close the book on this tale. Thank you SO much for all of your support. I'm SO sorry for not responding to your reviews for Chapter 17 yet, I'll get right on that! Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

It happens so fast that Sam doesn't have time to react.

One minute Dean's shuffling his feet along, head bowed and arm raised in a careless wave to Bobby as he pulls up in the Impala, and the next his legs buckle, the shovel clangs haphazardly to the asphalt and his body slumps hard against the hood of his baby.

"Dean!" he yells out, racing towards his brother as Bobby exits the car at lightning speed, eyes wide with concern.

As Sam approaches he can see it, hidden beneath a layer of dirt and sweat. Blood. It thickens around the now obvious gash just below Dean's ear on the back of his skull.

"When did that happen?" Sam questions, fingers dancing lightly over the wound.

Dean's head lulls towards him, his eyes glassy with pain.

"Dammit Dean, why didn't you say anything?" Sam whispers angrily as he and Bobby work to get Dean folded into the front seat.

"Bitchy lecture later, hospital now." Dean groans as Bobby leaves his side and makes his way to the backseat.

Sam stares at his fingers, the ones that are now sticky with Dean's blood, and feels the bubbling annoyance present in his own veins melt away. "Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm _asking _for a hospital Sam." He huffs. "So, I'm thinking no, not okay."

* * *

><p>Sam opens the door tentatively, regarding his brother with a soft nod. "How bad is it?"<p>

Dean lifts one of his hands in the air and wiggles several of his fingers with a grin.

"Five stitches, two broken fingers, severe dehydration, a scar on my hairline from head-butting that damn box and hot nurse Brenda's phone number." Dean brags from his hospital bed, brandishing the number with a flourish.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Did they say anything about lasting damage? Anything we have to worry about in the future?"

Dean shrugs. "Just the usual Sammy. Keep an eye out of memory loss, and sluggish reactions, blah, blah blah." he adds with a carefree wave which quickly turns into an air drum solo.

"Jeez Dean, how much morphine did they give you?"

"What?" He questions, clueless to his younger brother's amusement.

"I don't know." He states, scratching the back of his head with one of his hands. "Enough so that the marching band of pain in my head is now just a distant memory." He leans back on his pillows with a contented sigh before his medicated brain catches up and registers that the third member of their party is absent.

"What about Bobby? Where is he? How did he make out?"

Sam opens his mouth to answer just as the door opens up behind him and Bobby strides into the room. "Six stitches and I got them from a tree, not a rusty soccer trophy."

Dean smirks and waves his number again. "Yeah, but you didn't get hot nurse Brenda's number."

"No," Bobby agrees. "I didn't. I got Dr. Hamilton's though."

"Dude," Dean's mouth drops open. "Really?"

Bobby snorts. "I may be old, but I'm not _that _old."

Sam laughs as Dean grumbles. "I didn't mean it like that."

Bobby harrumphs and grabs one of the worn magazines from the side table. "So they keeping you overnight or what?"

Dean winks and retorts. "If Brenda has her way."

Sam looks back from Bobby and then to Dean as they continue their lively exchange full of smiles and laughter.

It hits him hard then, as their words seem to melt away and he contemplates just how close he had been to losing his brother. It doesn't seem possible that they managed to get out of this hunt pretty much unscathed.

"So everyone is really okay?" He whispers, as Bobby and Dean turn their eyes on him.

Dean's eyes soften as he takes in what Sam figures must be apprehension on his face.

"Of course Sammy, what did you expect?"

He can't answer that. He can't tell Dean that he _expected_ he would be too late. That he _expected_ to pull Dean's still, lifeless body from that coffin. That what he _expected_ was to recommit him to the earth in the form of a burning pyre.

He gulps down the rapidly rising emotion in his throat and shakes his head to clear the bitter image that has taken root there.

Bobby tilts his hat down further on his head as if to give the boys privacy.

"Sammy?" Dean inquires.

"Nothing." He chokes on the laughter he tries to force out of his mouth. "I should have known better."

Dean smacks the side of the railing. "Damn straight! Now bro, why don't we see about getting me some real food."

"Doctor said nothing solid for you at least the rest of the day."

"Dammit." He groans. "Jello?"

Sam swipes the chart from the bottom of the bed and scans it. "Yeah, jello's fine."

"Awesome! Make it cherry and not that crap with the fruit in it."

Sam grins and notices that Bobby is holding up a silent finger to request one as well.

As he goes to close the door Dean calls out. "And if you run into Brenda ask her when I can have a cheeseburger. I'm starving!"

A genuine chuckle erupts from his lips.

He doesn't know what he was so worried about; his brother is too full of life to ever die.


	19. Chapter 19

**A.N.: Chapter 19 of this tale is below, for those of you who were worried that Dean was acting okay just for the sake of Sam and Bobby, you were right. A special thanks to Dorothy for helping me beta this chapter, and more thanks than I can properly convey to the rest of you who read and review and just plain rock!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

_He can't remember falling asleep, and that fact alone pretty much tells him he is far, far closer to death than he is really comfortable. He chuckles because yeah, there has to be a certain level of 'comfort' with near death experiences in his particular brand of living and then 'almost' dying._

_He can't remember the last time he was conscious but… did he really waste precious air screaming and bellowing out into the darkness of his tomb? The roughness and pain that lances through his throat as he swallows makes the answer to that question a resounding yes._

_Fuck, did he even make an attempt to get out or did he just lay there like a pansy and flitter away into unconsciousness? No, he wouldn't just give up without a fight. Not him. The pain in his head and the crookedness of his fingers confirms that at least tried to do something. He didn't lay in wait for death to collect him peacefully._

_Damn it, he __**is**__ going to die in this hole. But he can't, not yet. First he has to find some way to leave behind a goodbye for Sam, like a note. He snorts. It doesn't look like the piece of shit coffin is going to speed up the process to become paper anytime soon (although that would make his grand plan to escape __**so**__ much easier) so yeah, that's not going to work. And he doesn't even have a pen in his meager belongings, so cross off that particle brand of communication._

_Maybe he can leave a recorded message on his cell phone… his dead cell phone. His own impending doom is apparently taking place of his common sense._

_His fingers skim the hard metal of his knife. Christ, maybe he'll just carve letters into the coffin just… he has to do something. He can't leave it like this. He can't drift off from this world into whatever is out there waiting for him without telling Sam… without telling Sammy…_

He wakes up engulfed in a mountain of blankets, his scream lost somewhere in the scratchiness of the comforter. The sheets are twisted around his neck and face creating some kind of macabre, homemade noose. He panics as he clutches sweaty palms around the fabric, fighting to loosen the stupid fucking thing from around his throat.

_Notintheground,notintheground,notintheground._

He pants in exertion as he thrusts the entirety of the bed linens away from his overheated body to tumble carelessly to the floor.

The room is silent, save for Sam's uneven snores. Poor Sammy, the kid only snores when he's totally exhausted.

Dean swings his feet off the side of the bed and paws around on the ground to snatch up his discarded jeans.

He somehow manages to maneuver back into the denim with his once functional hand, all the while unable to tear his eyes away from his brother. He narrows his gaze onto Sam's features, his little brother who seems to age years with every hunt.

He pats a sleeping shoulder and mumbles a fond, "Sweet dreams Sammy," as he wiggles the rest of the way into his jeans.

His hand starts to reach for his jacket when it happens.

The room feels like it's closing in, the air saturates with a thick, stale and nauseatingly familiar taste as his knees give out suddenly to acquaint themselves with the floor.

His head tips into the back of the particleboard chair as he fights off the wave of dizziness.

"I'm not there," he grits out, "not in that stupid little box, not dying, I'm _fine._" He hisses, lightly banging a hand against the side of the chair.

"Sam got you out, remember. You're out." He groans, forcing himself back to his feet.

His brother grumbles something unintelligible as he rolls over towards him.

"Sam has been through enough, he doesn't need this." Dean whispers, watching as his brother slips back into a fitful sleep.

He reaches for his keys and clamps his hand down on them hard, relishing the bite of the metal into his palm because it is real.

He's here. He's back into the light of the day, of the surface. He didn't die down there like he was terrified he would, not like Lily.

_Lily._

The name cuts a swath through his defenses as he recalls the high pitched, keening wails she expelled into the darkness, her mind traveling a shocking expanse of emotions for such a young girl.

No one had found her. No one had rescued her. No one had delivered her into the waiting arms of her parents, to be showered with love and support. No one had the chance to help her recover from the consuming horror of being buried alive.

"Dammit," Dean grumbles, running a hand down his face to clear away the evidence of fresh tears.

He's got to get out of here. He needs to get away from the suffocating grip of claustrophobia that grips him tight as he stares at the closed door. He is trapped in that room and he can't take it for even one more second.

He rushes the door and exits the room in a panic. He darts into the parking lot and races to his car; not exactly sure of where he's going but knowing there is no way he can step one foot back into that room.

He has miles to go before he sleeps…


	20. Chapter 20

**A.N.: Well here we are, at the end of this tale. I can't begin to thank you for every single kind word you guys have bestowed on me. I'm THRILLED beyond words that so many of you liked this. :-D I hope you enjoy the ending as well. Oh and the man that is referred to as Dean's hero later in this chapter is John making this set in S2, I just didn't want there to be any confusion. :D Thanks again guys, really and truly. *hugs***

**-Becky**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine.**

Sam drifts from the sleeping world into the waking world with a muted twitch of his limbs, a garbled 'Dean' making its way from his nightmares to echo out in the room.

He blinks once, slowly, allowing the lift of his lids to take away the ghastly images that were painted behind them just moments before.

"Dean," he calls out, reaching over to pat around the other bed.

His pupils narrow as he hones in on the bed opposite of him….the _empty_ bed.

He drags his hands across his eyes and scans the rest of the room. Empty.

"Dean?" he starts, fighting down the upsurge of dread that vies for dominance in his scattered mind.

_Just chill out Sam, he's probably in the bathroom, or went for a walk, or…_

"Dean!" He yells, caught off guard by the sudden fear that plagues him.

His body moves on its own as he tosses the bathroom door to the side, privacy be damned.

Nothing. It's empty.

"Goddammit Dean." He hisses as he slams the door shut and pivots back to face the room.

He's starting to freak out.

Dean is hurt, Dean is traumatized, Dean is gone.

"Fuck," the younger Winchester mutters, throwing his arms into his jacket as he looks around the room for some sort of note.

Nothing. The room is void of any sign of his brother. His 'extremely fucked up, better be okay or he's going to kill him' brother.

His pants go on in one quick motion as he flips open his cell phone and dials his brothers number. He pounds a fist into the frame of the door as it immediately goes to voicemail.

"Dean, it's me. Look I don't know where you went and I really don't care, call me back and let me know you're okay."

He scrolls down the contact list to Bobby.

He hand grips the knob as he lets the door fly open, his fingers shift on the phone to press send when he sees it.

It's barely noticeable in the dark, cooling night, but unmistakable once he realizes its origin.

He sees the top of a head, with the signature mussed up hairstyle he has spent years committing to memory.

It's a feature he could pick out in a crowd of hundreds.

Dean.

* * *

><p>He stomps over to the Impala, fully prepared to shake some sense back into his brother, maybe cash in that bitchy lecture that he had forgone on the trip to the hospital, but the appearance of the other man stops him cold.<p>

He looks so small, huddled under his jacket like it is the only thing protecting him from the outside world.

Gone is the bravado that his brother usually decorates himself in, worn with pride like a war metal.

Gone is the sarcasm and insults that he hides his insecurities and flaws behind.

Gone is the fire that Sam could have sworn radiated from within his brother from the day he was born.

His heart softens at the sight of his brother looking so vulnerable and he can see that his amulet is cradled gently in his limp hand.

"Oh Dean," he whispers, overcome by love and loyalty as he stares at his brother. His brother who had just been through the most horrific experience of his fairly horrific life after being prematurely robbed of the man who had always been his hero.

Christ, can they not catch a break?

He sighs and gathers his coat tighter around him as he slides down by the tire to the side of where Dean is resting.

The air whips around them in a hushed whimper as Sam closes his eyes and lets the relief of his brother being there and on the mend, and _alive _wash over him.

He's blinking back hot tears and swallowing the sob that is crammed in his throat when a soft voice mumbles. "Sammy?"

He cranes his head towards the hood of the car.

"That you?"

"Yeah," Sam begins, hurrying to his feet to assure Dean that the presence he sensed was not a volatile one. "It's me."

Dean nods as he pushes up on his elbows and switches the jacket from his front to his back.

Sam notices that his hands are trembling as they appear out of the sleeves of the jacket and he spies the Impala's keys dangling from the ignition.

Suddenly finding Dean camped out on the hood of his car starts to make sense.

"Fucking cold out," Dean mutters expelling a shaky breath.

"Yeah, it is. What are you doing out here man?"

Dean's face floods with shame and fear moments before he turns it into the wind.

Sam waits, resisting the urge to reach out to his brother, knowing that when Dean gets like this any touch has the same effect as a match to a powder keg.

"I just..." Dean sighs, his breath wobbling as it leaks out of his lips in a visible puff of air. "I can't sleep Sam."

The confession hangs in the air between them as Dean's shoulders slump in defeat.

"Yeah," Sam starts, leaning forward on the door of the Impala. "The beds here are shit dude; I couldn't get any sleep either."

The eldest Winchester's head swivels toward him, shame, guilt and terror slowly but surely being replaced with gratitude and affection and a hint of his trademark smirk.

"Every time you pick the hotel Sammy, I end up missing out on my beauty sleep." He grits out.

Sam chuckles. "And from the looks of it you _really _need it."

"Shut up. I'm gorgeous." he groans, sliding off the hood.

Sam eases the passenger side door of the Impala open. "The important thing is that _you_ believe that. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He states, plopping down in the seat.

He leans his head out the window to toss Dean a winning smile.

"It's four am Sam."

"Truck stop diner?"

"Pancakes?" His older brother inquires, his hand resting on the door handle.

Sam can see the uncertainty hidden in the lines on his older siblings face.

"Yeah Dean," He pushes the door open for the other man as an invitation for him to take his rightful place behind the wheel. "Pancakes."

His hand runs along the edge of the door as if he is reacquainting himself with his baby, the look on his face as close to reverence as he has ever seen.

Dean beams as he folds into the driver's seat of the Impala with a contented sigh, fingers curling around the jiggling keys.

He guns the engine with a soft smile before he turns to pop Sam on the shoulder.

"Thanks bro."

Sam smiles at the look of genuine happiness on his older brothers face. "It's just pancakes dude, don't get all emotional on me."

The rumble of the Impala booms in unison with its owner's laughter as he throws the car in reverse.


End file.
